During the last two months of the year, we inevitably receive
constant reminders to reflect on what we are thankful for. Magazine covers show
perfectly roasted birds laid on fine porcelain platters in November for the
Thanksgiving and transition to glossy stacks of perfectly wrapped
presents in December for the holiday season. It is quite impossible not to
dwell on the things you are grateful for during the few weeks that round up the
year. There are naturally the obvious things one is thankful for - health,
comfort, family, success, possibilities, the liberty and ability to do
anything, be anything, to aim and achieve. However, when I read Rachel Ray's
letter in last month's Every Day with Rachel Ray
magazine, in which she talks about being thankful for "food," I
wondered if it is not worth being more granular in my thinking as well. After
all, the hunger statistics in the world are staggering. 
I am thankful also for having a welcoming home, and more importantly, I am
grateful for having it frequented by guests. I was talking to my sister the
other day and she mentioned that in most religions and traditions, to host
guests is an honor. In Islamic tradition specifically, we grew up listening to
the story of Hazrat Abu-Bakr Siddiq (r.a.). He gave away all his wealth in the
name of Islam. One night, he was sheltering travelers, but had very little
food. He offered all of his food to his guests and lowered the flame of his
lamp so his guests would not know that their host was forgoing his own rations to
feed them. I had forgotten about this story until she reminded me of it. I have
been guilty in the past few months of wrinkling my nose at the prospect of
hosting guests. With a demanding schedule that encompasses work, family, baby,
writing, studying, and teaching, I am left with very little patience to
entertain – even though I feel my best when I am doing exactly that –
entertaining. This story made me realize how guests really are an honor (I also
agree with Benjamin Franklin that “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after
three days”). Let’s face it. I am not the only person in the world with
responsibilities and a grueling routine. If my guests are willing to take out
the time to visit me, I should take it as the compliment it is meant to be. 
Finally, I am thankful for my friends. All of them – near and far. Some of my
family members are my best friends. There are others who, over the years, have
acquired a familiarity that is akin to being related by blood. We are all
separated by time and distance, scattered as we are across several continents.
Sometimes, we don’t speak for months, and then suddenly some kind of magic
takes hold of the air around me and them at the same time, and we are propelled
into the perfect harmony of “having free time” to Skype for hours (I should
also offer thanks for Skype and Facetime). Speaking of friends, though, I must
say that everyone should have a Rebecca in
their lives. There is very little about my life that Rebecca does not know.
While she does not always understand the complexities I encounter as I tread
two identities in two different continents, she is always able to sympathize.
Every year, she cooks me a fantastic Thanksgiving meal and has become a part of
my family so completely that all you have to do is look at my baby’s big smile
upon seeing Rebecca to realize how much we care for her. This year, Thanksgiving
was spent with the usual preparations and piles of delicious food as you can see in the pictures. The turkey was beautiful to look at and perfectly moist and wonderfully flavorful with crisped golden-brown skin. Creamed corn, fluffy mashed potatoes and salty gravy, crisp string beans with pesto sauce, smoky roasted cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, and tangy apple pie for dessert with a flaky crust. It was a memorable dinner to say the least. Being in the presence of other family members, I sometimes find it difficult to transition into and out of accents, inflections, and even languages. While Rebecca was busy cooking in the kitchen to prepare our feast, I was going back and forth between Urdu with my family and English with her. The juggling made me wonder, quite profoundly, if I have sometimes inadvertently left her out of conversations, and worse, if she has felt that way.
It is one of the aspects of my personality I have struggled with. I have
never been at ease with speaking a language that a part of my audience does not
understand, but over and over, I fall back into this pattern, perhaps by habit
or by circumstances. I noticed, for example, my mother who does not converse
fluently in English shying away from the company of my American friends and preferring to stay in her room after
greeting them, because we spoke English
among ourselves, and I often forgot to translate for her benefit or include her
in the conversation. I wondered anxiously on Thanksgiving Day, if I had somehow alienated
my best friend, too, by not having the discipline to stick to one universally
understood language. I may have – I will hear about it either way after she
reads this. 
Photos by Rebecca McCue